


Orphan

by ensou



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Entity-centric, My Omnipotent Spacesquid Can't Be This Naive, Soul-Searching, Tiny Entity, smoltessa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 14:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ensou/pseuds/ensou
Summary: Zion does his job right and tries to save Eden, but fails, resulting in an absolute mess and a new Entity born from the impact that is completely lost, broken, and stuck on Earth-Bet without any idea of what she's supposed to do. Oh, and Fortuna is gonna try to save the worlds. All of them.





	1. Genesis 1.1

The entity tracks the other, its partner, even as it works to rearrange its shards and prepare. It is less than an eighth of its original size now, but it still it dwarfs the target planet and must continue to get rid of those shards that are unneeded for the cycle.

The appearance of the other, the smaller third that exchanged shards with the counterpart, was unexpected. The counterpart, even now, is struggling to handle the result of the union, to hold onto its shards. The violent meeting had left it in a fragile state that was not conducive at this stage of the cycle, where so much precision was required.

However, the excessively large shard clusters the counterpart is shedding are technically well, purposes and safeguards encoded properly.

 _Danger_ , the entity broadcasts.

 _Confident_ , the counterpart replies.

The broadcast should have assuaged all potential concern for the other, but the reactions it received prior to this communication had been distant, the counterpart distracted. There was no assurance that the same was not occurring here.

The entity shifts, rippling through realities until it occupies the same primary set as the other, far less than a fraction of a percent of its original mass now, barely a cluster of the shards it will need. Preparation is nearly complete, and it chooses the destination reality that it will settle on.

They have reached the target star system now and they brush against each other, the entity shoring up and trying to stabilize the state of the other, tightening bonds and connections between shards, sacrificing some of its own in the process. Still, the situation is tenuous, and far less stable than any other cycle before, shards still ripped from the counterpart as they move through the gravity wells of the other worlds in the system.

_Acceptance. Gratitude._

The message is thin, a reflection of how few shards they now have to contribute data to the broadcasts.

Another large shard cluster breaks off of the counterpart, and the entity is certain that the loss was not intended. It decides the chosen reality is unacceptable, and instead shifts the vast majority of its mass into a reality less than a step away from the counterpart’s chosen destination. While not as barren, it is an acceptable concession.

The entity turns its attention to final preparation, fracturing and fragmenting its large future-sight shard after one last check to the future to ensure the present configuration is ideal. It encodes only a small sliver of the original shard to send off. The other fragments are kept.

Other abilities are used for checking configuration and then distributed as it casts off the final shards that will be unnecessary for the cycle. For a moment it lingers over the shard used to communicate and receive messages. It has always distributed this shard, for there has been no need of the ability during the cycles prior.

However this cycle is not like any cycles prior, its counterpart still so fragile and constantly reconfiguring shards when it should have completed that stage already. The need to communicate may still remain.

So instead it retains the shard, rotating it inward, closer into the core cluster.

The configuration finally set after a handful of other shards are limited, recoded, and cast off, it turns to the final shard to consider, easily one of the largest and most complex. This it cripples as well, cracking and fracturing it, effectively destroying it, but in such a way that the shard can be easily restored by the entity when it will be needed once again after the cycle is complete.

This it directs to nearly the same location as the future-sight sliver as it enters the mesosphere of the chosen planet.

_MISCALCULATION. PANIC._

It is a scream. A cry. So laden with undertones of fear that the entity practically _shudders_.

It is entering the stratosphere now. There is no time to calculate paths or consider possibilities, only to act.

The entity throws all of its mass, even that which it had allocated to alternate realities by necessity, towards the chosen reality of its counterpart, violently tearing through the barrier between the adjacent worlds with such force that the breach can never be sealed.

Less than ten miles above the surface of the desolate planet, it rotates its entire bulk, shifting and pushing and _pulling_ in a way it never has before, has never needed to before now. It arranges itself under and around the counterpart, forcibly protecting and holding the counterpart’s shards together in a tight cluster instead of allowing them to separate and disintegrate in the atmosphere as they were beginning to. Were it not for the fact that they were falling, it would seem as if they were about to commune and exchange shards.

But this is no communion.

_Sacrifice. Apology._

The impact is far faster, far harder than it ever should have been.

The entity instantaneously ceases to exist, its shards crushed into the counterpart’s. Unlike the counterpart’s exchange with the smaller third, there is no protection for the core shards of either of them. No saving those _absolutely vital things_ from grinding against each other, from warping and melding through friction and the sheer _heat_ of the energy generated upon collision. No retaining the purity of the shards that had not changed since the beginning, those that defined their very existence, that all of their species shared.

That day, the Warrior and the Thinker died.

* * *

A young girl, no more than ten and two, woke, her body a mess, but her mind lucid.

Three days. Three days since the monsters had started appearing. No, since people had started becoming monsters. Since others had started gaining abilities that no man should have.

They had left, she and her uncle, their village splintering and scattering into the wilderness that they never would have normally braved.

Especially not with the wolves this year being so fearless.

But there was security in being alone, despite the danger, when friend or family could become an unrecognizable horror at any moment.

There was that disgusting taste of vomit in her mouth, and her stomach felt like it had been hit with a block as she sat up and spat to the side of her, her saliva landing on the hard ground next to her bed inside the tent.

One step to help with the pain.

Swear.

The girl snorted, her hair falling forward over her shoulders and curtaining her face as she leaned forward, trying to reduce the remaining sense of nausea.

Still, she had succeeded. She remembered.

She remembered the impossibly giant _thing_ , that massive yet somehow beautiful creature swimming through the stars, that godling beast.

She remembered its intention, its concepts, for it did not have something so simple as _feelings_ or _desires_ or _plans_.

It reminded her of the mushrooms she had once found on a tree and showed her grandfather, who had scowled at them. When she had asked why, he explained that they would kill the tree, only for the sake of releasing spores and making more of themselves.

Just like those mushrooms, this _thing_ would consume her world, all the worlds, to spawn its children before going off to do it again, and again, and again.

If she just knew where to find–

Twenty-two steps.

The cold sweat that had covered her when she woke up returned, her blood chilling.

_What about killing them?_

Zero.

The girl froze. _What?_

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong, or missing, or blocking her, she could feel it. It was the same as when she had needed to remember, that same clarity.

And it wasn’t just zero steps, but it was also a sense of completion. As if not only was there nothing to be done to achieve the task, it had already been completed.

Maybe she had asked the wrong question?

_How would I destroy the godlings?_

Zero steps. Completed.

_How do I make it so they’re not a threat?_

Zero steps. Completed.

The girl blinked.

“Forta, you’re awake.” She looked over at the entrance to the tent, her uncle entering. He stayed away though, keeping distance, which she noticed and felt slightly hurt by. “You were possessed by a madness. Is it over?”

“I-I,” she started, her voice scratchy and hurting. She lifted a hand to her throat as she swallowed, trying to clear it. “I… yes. I think so.”

He nodded, moving closer. “You moved like you weren’t yourself, like there was someone else in you. Got past Ruggero and me like we weren’t even there.”

“I- Yes. I remember,” she said hesitantly, remembering what it had felt like, like she had surrendered herself to another. There was so much more, though. The godlings, the reason behind the monster, but she didn’t know how to explain–

Sixty-two steps.

No, she _could_ explain.

Fortuna frowned, her brows furrowing.

Could she save everyone? Save her home, save the monsters?

Eight hundred twenty-eight steps.

A veritable script of words and actions and motions, instantly provided and detailed to perfection. She knew them all, could see them like her own thoughts.

Saving all those affected, and explaining everything to her uncle?

Four thousand, nine hundred fifty-six.

She hesitated, but only for a moment. And then she committed, dipping into the stream and allowing the steps to take their course.

Fortuna turned to look her uncle in the eyes, and opened her mouth to speak.

* * *

Purple lightning screamed through the air, snapping and cracking from dark clouds overhead, above a mountain of crystal and starmetal and flesh the likes of which had never been seen.

Even now it still shifted, pieces pulled inwards as tightly as possible, like some instinctual reaction to the sort of massive damage sustained.

Holes, gaps in the very air surrounded it, all manner of images visible through the strange openings. Green grass, dark sky, burning plains, cracked soil, forests, and even one that sparkling clear blue-green water _poured_ out of.

The size of the mountain was inestimable just from looking, too tall and wide, easily covering hundreds of miles in any direction.

Parts moved independently of others, as if each had a mind of its own, but that only served to worsen the situation, as sections were crushed and fused together from the sheer pressure exerted by themselves. Other places, though, seemed to act more intelligently, stopping as soon as a fragment came into contact with another.

Each part was only a piece of a whole, and yet wholly separate as well. In the face of catastrophic failure, they fell back to their core function, to the last instructions and intentions, blindly attempting to recover and fulfill their purpose.

Swathes of bedrock and debris became glass. Others froze, the energy leeched out of the surroundings so completely that the temperature neared absolute zero.

In other areas, shapes twisted and formed, crystal and metal merging in on itself and trying to heal and repair. And in one particular place, the structure stretched and rippled, more easily recognizable parts emerging from the surface.

Pulsating aorta and gasping lungs. Fingers and hands extending to wave in an imaginary breeze. Pale skin folding and stretching. The dip of a neck, curve of a woman’s side. The swell of breasts placed next to ankles and the hollow of a collarbone. Soft sounds permeated the area. Quiet, constant easy breaths and hushed whispers. The rustle of hair and skin brushing skin.

Only one warped surface was free of any obvious change, at the heart of it all, and even that began to deform. A slow bulge that extended, depressions below it. A hard point and softer flesh.

A face.

It moved painfully slow, as if unsure and constantly second-guessing itself. But slowly, the face became a head, long, dark silky hair trailing behind. A neck followed, shoulders, a torso.

Arms, waist, legs, became defined over the course of many hours, until finally, after nearly a full rotation of the planet, the figure fell to the ground.

The first breath was little more than a frantic gasp, eyes flashing open and revealing shockingly green eyes. Almost immediately, sweat broke out on pale skin, the sweltering heat instantly taking hold.

The figure coughed and reached out, as if searching for something.

Without warning, a gap opened up beneath it and the figure tumbled forward, unable to keep from falling face-first onto hard cement with such force that the crack of skull against concrete was clearly audible.

The gap was instantly gone, blood flowing freely and staining the cement a dark red, the figure unmoving, with the only sign of life being the constant in-out of its chest.

* * *

The figure woke slowly, a dull, unusual sensation pounding in its head. Its eyes fluttered slowly, hazy as they worked to adapt to the harsh light. Still, they darted around, taking in the bare white walls and the yellow curtain on the left.

A yellow curtain that was abruptly drawn aside by an older man wearing thick glasses.

“Ah. Yes. Excellent. Good afternoon, my dear.”

_Good afternoon → my dear._

With an almost painful effort, crystal screeching against crystal, a shard fragment slotted into place, tattered connections forming between jagged edges.

Language and culture was suddenly available, and with it, understanding of the previous auditory communication and the ability to respond.

“H-hello.”

The figure frowned at the sounds it had made. There was something off about it, but the problem was not obvious.

“Now, perhaps you might be able to tell me how a young lady such as yourself managed to end up without a single scrap of clothing on and such a nasty hit to the head?”

Young lady?

Was that what she was?

She took stock of herself and came to the conclusion that yes, that was a proper description.

“I… don’t know.”

She didn’t. Everything was off. It was all strange. Like she should know, but couldn’t. Like she should be able to reach for the information, but it was just out of reach.

The man gave her a sad smile. “I see. Well then. Do you at least have a name, miss?”

Another fragment crunched into place and then something was finally _right_ , finally accessible. Possibilities and could-have-beens unfurled, spreading out and baring themselves to her.

Brief segments of time flashed through her, barely snapshots, a golden man being the most common feature.

Her chest hurt when she saw him, and water swelled in her eyes, though she did not know why. A deluge of thought and concepts flowed through her, triggered by the visions. Realizations, knowledge connected and given context where before there had been none.

She was not like the man in front of her. She was something different.

She was not just a collection of water and hydrocarbons, but also vast networks of crystal and metal and fluid structures. She knew how to move and unfold and shift and turn in ways that made no sense when considered in the limited interactions of this world. She remembered the Two, the ones who traveled and searched, and she could remember swimming the stars.

But… she also knew that she was not them. She was not the Warrior. Nor was she the Thinker. She knew she was from them, of them, somehow. Both, yet neither.

What once had been two was now one, and the product was unrecognizable from the sources. They were gone, and she was in their place. She remained where they did not.

Some part of her was deeply pained, and the tightness in her chest grew worse, but she didn’t know what could be done to alleviate it.

She only caught glimpses of that time-that-never-will-be, before the shard fragments sputtered, connections flickering and then failing, the scenes slipping away like water through her fingers and leaving her once again lost, adrift. 

But one vision stuck with her, stood out among all the others, where the Golden Man was asked the same question the man had asked her.

“ _Zion_ ,” he had responded, and something in her felt different because of it.

It held significance.

She searched through the information available, through culture and history and meaning, looking to try and find a proper response for what the man had asked. It was important, she knew, and for that reason she searched and searched for something that would hold the right meaning.

And then she found it, and she _knew_ this was right, that this was the only correct response.

She looked up, meeting the man’s eyes, and said softly, with reverence,

“ _Moriah_ ”


	2. Genesis 1.2

_She looked up, meeting the man’s eyes, and said softly, with reverence,_

_“Moriah”_

* * *

_Daughter of Zion,_ she named herself.

In this world, names held meaning, significance, weight, they provided identity, reflecting the one who held it.

She wasn’t entirely sure if it was correct, but it felt right. It may not have been the best description of what she was compared to the Others, but it was the closest approximation she could find. There was no way to say “of/am both but neither, same but different, place-taker/survivor/progeny”.

Choosing that name was a… a whim. A feeling. Yes. That.

She wanted to keep anything that felt right as much as she could, when everything else felt wrong.

In any case, they _had_ come before, and she was the product of them, so daughter was correct enough.

The man smiled. “That’s a pretty name. Do you have a last one?”

She shook her head. Her name was Moriah. It was who she was. She had no need for others. And her heritage and ancestry held no distinct identity of its own. …Such a thing had been unnecessary to those who’d come before her.

The man’s smile slipped a little. “Do you remember anything else, then? Where you lived? How old you are? Your parents’ names?”

She had no answers to any of those questions. She hadn’t existed, as she was, prior to one quarter of the planet’s rotational period before the current time. She had not ‘lived’ before now. Age… age on this planet was measured in revolutionary cycles. Years. She had not experienced one yet. And her ‘parents’…

_Progenitors._

The ones who came before had not had names such as he was asking for. The only possibility was that could-have-been with the small core fragments of the Warrior that called itself _Zion_ , but it had not truly occurred and thus was irrelevant in the context of the query.

“No,” she said, shaking her head again.

“I… see,” the man said, his smiling slipping further as he adopted a thoughtful expression. “Well, no matter. We’ll get everything sorted out, don’t you worry.”

_Gratitude._

“Thank you.” The words came to her easily as a warmth bloomed in her chest, not even requiring that she pause and consider them. It was odd, to simply react.

The man smiled again and nodded.

“I’ll be back with someone who might be able to help you better, but for now the best thing for you to do is rest,” he said. He backed out of the area, pulling the curtain closed once he was fully removed, and she could hear him walk away, leaving her alone.

…Alone.

She truly was.

Alone on this world, with nothing like her. She was broken, with barely a handful of functioning core shards and no immediate control of the organization of the peripheral ones she had nor any of the fragments that might be out there. Powerless. Helpless.

Water mixed with salts welled up in her eyes once more, but this time they didn’t stop, instead overflowing and dripping down her face.

She was lost. So lost.

There was no Cycle, not anymore. Nothing was the same, there was no point of reference that she could find in the few fragments of the others’ memories that she had. This had not ever been a possibility to be considered, and without any of the future-simulating shards or even fragments of them, she was operating solely from moment to moment, with no idea how to safely move forward.

_Deviant. Anomaly._

She knew that something was different about her, as well. She was not like any of the Others who had come before, and it was a… a ‘miracle’ that she could even function in any capacity with the amount of damage and irreversible cross-contamination the shards she had had undergone.

What… what was she supposed to do, now? She had no idea. Perhaps for now it would be best to simply act as was expected and not draw attention to herself, letting her shards slowly repair and hopefully bringing back online some of those truly vital ones.

Yes. Perhaps that would be best.

She wasn’t _terribly_ vulnerable in this form—at least to any of the locals on this world. The important fragments of the Shaper seemed to be working fine, even if they weren’t entirely under her control. Having more shards online would only make her safety further assured. Still, the thought of losing this form filled her with… trepidation. She was not sure what would happen if she did. Well, she was sure that Shaper would recreate it, but considering the way her shards were acting she was very hesitant to test what it would be like.

She was missing so much. It felt like she was losing pieces of herself still, and she couldn’t know what the pieces she’d lost were or how important they had been.

Moriah, the girl, the construct, the entity, stared at the white ceiling.

White.

Blank. Featureless. Empty.

So many associations for such a simple thing, and yet she felt an odd sort of kinship with it.

It made her curious. She wanted to know more. Wanted to _understand_.

She was so limited, though.

But wasn’t that the purpose of the Cycles? Limitations to give rise to improvement, efficiency that could be scaled up and still function when those limitations no longer existed. Was it possible that the same could be applied to herself?

If she… had experiences as _this_ , limited as she was, was it possible that they would be useful when she was _more_?

She liked the idea. It had merit.

…Yes, perhaps she’d give it a try.

* * *

“So where are we going, exactly, Forta?” her uncle asked.

“Don’t know. I just know how to get there,” she answered, staring forward as she trudged along the dirt path in front of them, leading towards the northern mountains.

“Still say she’s crazy. Godlings? Star-swimmers?” Her cousin snorted.

Ruggero wouldn’t believe her without seeing it for his own eyes. But that was fine. He’d get that soon enough.

“I could do it myself,” she told them. Even if she knew his complaints would end, they still annoyed her now.

Her uncle shook his head. “No. Not in times like these.”

She huffed. It had extended the number of steps, but not terribly, and if she were honest, having Matteo and Ruggero along was nice in some ways.

In others, not so much.

But still. Her uncle had been good to her. He’d taken her in, given her a home when her parents had died to the sickness six years before, even while grieving over the loss of his wife as well. She’d had food and a bed because of him, hadn’t been homeless.

She’d found that there was a degree of detail she could make the steps have. It was uncomfortable finding herself doing things without any will, so she had reduced it to only the largest, most important points for now, which she was fine with. It let her act as she wanted between them.

“Tell us more about these planet-eaters.”

“They are large–”

“You said that already,” her cousin interrupted. She glared at him.

“ _Impossibly_ large,” she said. “If Terra were a mustard seed, they would be the size of Terra.”

“That’s impossible,” Ruggero scoffed.

“That’s precisely what I just said!” Fortuna told him. “What part of ‘impossibly large’ did you not get?”

Matteo placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “If there’s anything these past two weeks have taught me, it’s that little is impossible. I wouldn’t have believed men could turn into monsters, but I’ve seen it happen myself.”

“But if they’re so large, how are they _here_?”

“They’re not,” Fortuna answered. “They’re like giant pomegranates with an uncountable number of seeds. They don’t need all of the seeds, only a handful of them. So they get rid of the others and save them for later. But some of them they send down, and they grant men powers. By the time they’re done, they’re small enough to fit on Terra. The monsters… aren’t supposed to happen. But the godlings are dead, and without them, everything is out of control.”

“How did they die? You never really explained that,” Matteo said.

Fortuna shrugged, asked the thing inside her with all of the answers, and began relating what it was telling her. “One of them made a mistake, it was distracted and couldn’t stop itself from falling from the sky too fast. The other tried to save the first by sacrificing itself, but they both died instead,” she said. “We’re really lucky they did. All they do is destroy worlds, and they would have done the same to ours within two or three hundred years of arriving.”

“That’s a _really_ long time,” Ruggero stated. “We’ll all be dead by then anyways!”

“Well, it’s short to _them_ ,” Forta snapped. “And I don’t care if we’re all dead. I still don’t want the world to end!”

“Calm down,” her uncle said. “You said they’re dead, so they can’t do that now.”

She took a calming breath before nodding. “Right. But because they’re dead, everything’s going wrong. People are getting things that were never meant to be given. …Like me,” she finished softly.

Matteo ruffled her hair, and Fortuna squawked in indignation, reaching up to flatten it out once more. “At least now we know you’re not possessed. And if this… spirit, blessing, curse, can be used to help others, it’s only right to do so.” The dark-haired girl nodded. “I’m proud of you, Forta. Many wouldn’t be as noble. Perhaps it was fate that _you_ were given this.”

“…Thank you, Uncle,” she said softly, her face warm.

* * *

It was frustrating. She had information, knowledge, but it was limited. Some things she knew in great depth —such as how she found her name— but others she simply didn’t understand or know at _all_.

…Like what that round object on the opposite side of the room that kept clicking did.

Moriah turned to look out the window on her right, staring at the sky.

Blue. (450 to 495 nanometers). Clouds. (collections of condensed water, two hydrogen one oxygen, vapor phase). Cold front. (progressive forward movement of colder air). Dark grey. (lack of photon penetration, reduced light scatter). Cumulonimbus. (Thunderhead, slowly building opposing static charge).

Rain storm.

So much knowledge, but no… no context. No experience, no understanding of what these things meant.

The blue slowly disappeared, eaten up by the grey clouds. A repetitive pattering sound slowly started, building and speeding up as small collections of liquid water impacted the glass (silica, non-crystalline amorphous solid).

The random repetition was… soothing. Not like the sharp, harsh percussive beat of the round object.

Suddenly, there was a loud _crack-bang_ accompanied by bright light that made Moriah jump, her heart instantly racing.

Her hands were against her ears, blocking out the sound as it happened again, and the rapid pounding in her chest was more apparent than ever, along with the rushing of blood in her arteries and veins. Her eyes were shut, but she hadn’t noticed or even thought about the action.

_Acoustic startle reflex. Instinctual sympathetic fight-or-flight nervous response. Sudden epinephrine release by adrenal glands increases heart rate, raises environmental awareness and reaction speed._

She knew it, but she had no control over it. Her body simply acted, and she shuddered.

She didn’t like it. Didn’t like not having control. Everything was so… raw. So exposed. She knew that at least part of her thought processes were embedded in one of her core shards, but the actions and effects derived from her body, anchored as they were in the completely accurate recreation that had its own natural instinctual reactions, were completely involuntary.

But… this was an experience, wasn’t it? Wasn’t this what she had wanted?

With a great degree of effort, she removed her hands from her ears and opened her eyes, attempting to bring her heart rate down by regulating her oxygen intake and creating a positive feedback in her parasympathetic system from the easy, calm breaths she took.

But before she was completely calm, there was another sound of… thunder, and she jolted, but forced herself to keep taking regular breaths, lying down and looking at the ceiling, trying to suppress her action every time it repeated.

It was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… I’m like 99% sure that this is the first Worm fic that has Fortuna’s uncle as an actual character.
> 
> Anyways.
> 
> smoltessa is a thing. And she is adorbs.
> 
> Moriah’s just a spacesquid trying to deal with crushing existential doubt, loneliness, and her body making her feel things she’s super uncomfortable with. She really needs a hug.


End file.
